


Date Night

by squadrickchestopher



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Boys In Love, Bucky Barnes Feels, Clint Barton Feels, Crying, I Love You, Lingerie, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Top Clint Barton, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Clint doesn’t answer. He’s staring at Bucky’s legs, clad in dark stockings. As Bucky watches, he sinks to his knees and reverently reaches out, running a hand up Bucky’s calf. He skims over the garter belt straps, over to where they disappear under the purple panties, all the way up to where the straps attach to the lace part of the camisole. His thumb smooths over one of the little purple bows and he swallows roughly, the movement of his throat visible in the dim light of the kitchen.“Baby,” he finally says, voice faint. He looks up at Bucky’s face. “Did you wear all this forme?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 30
Kudos: 185
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the very lovely [winterhawklibrary](https://winterhawklibrary.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much! <3

This is, without a doubt, the most embarrassing thing Bucky has ever done in his _life_. “I look stupid,” he says, flushing bright red as he looks in the mirror again. “Why the hell am I doing this?”

“Because,” Nat says, “you’re a nice boyfriend, and your masculinity’s not so fragile that you can’t handle a little lingerie.”

Bucky scowls at the phone on the bathroom counter. “I’m not worried about my _masculinity_ ,” he says. “What kind of guy do you take me for? I’m worried about looking over the top. Are you sure this isn’t too much?”

“Yes,” she says. “Trust me, Bucky, I’m sure you look great. Were you able to find the lipstick?”

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the tube. “I wish you were here; I have no idea how to put this shit on.”

“It’s not hard. I’ll walk you through it.” She pauses for a second, and then says, “Hang on.”

There are a few muffled gunshots. Bucky pauses in the middle of pulling up a stocking over his bare leg and says, “Are you on a _mission_ right now?”

“Yes.”

“Nat, what the hell? I thought you were at home!”

“Fury asked Clint to go out tonight, and I volunteered to go in his place.” She fires again and grunts like she’s jumping over something. “It’s no big deal. I can still talk.”

Bucky shakes his head and pulls up the other stocking. “Did you do that so he’d be free tonight for me?”

“No, I did it because I love climbing down fire escapes in the dead of night, in the middle of winter.” She sounds a little out of breath. “But yes.”

“You’re the best,” Bucky says fervently. “Seriously. I owe you.” He gets the other stocking in place, then says, “No, wait. _That’s_ why you did it, isn’t it?”

Her voice is amused. “Got the lipstick?”

“I take it back. You’re the worst.” He picks up the tube. “Tell me how to do this.”

She walks him through it. The color actually looks pretty natural on him, all things considered, and he takes a moment to be proud that he didn’t smudge it or anything. “Okay, I think I got it.”

“Send me a picture. Of your face, not the whole ensemble. Some things are better left to the imagination.”

He blushes. “Nat, I’m not—"

“Send the damn picture, Barnes. I’m out here getting shot at so you can get laid.”

“If you’re getting shot at, it’s because you’re _letting_ them do it,” he protests, but he quickly snaps a picture and sends it to her.

“Very nice,” she tells him. “Looks good on you. Add some eyeliner.” There's another couple of shots. “Do you need anything else? Because I should probably focus now.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, looking in the mirror. “I, uh. Thank you.”

“Have fun,” she tells him.

Bucky hangs up. “Sure,” he says, studying his reflection. “Fun. This will be fun and not embarrassing at all.”

He’s not really sure what he has to be embarrassed about, honestly. It’s not like he’s going to parade down Broadway looking like this. Clint’s the only person who will see it, and if Bucky knows anything about his boyfriend, he’s going to be absolutely enthralled by it.

Still. This is _way_ outside of his comfort zone. He would never even have thought of it if he hadn’t been out shopping with Clint that one day. Bucky had been picking out some non-ripped jeans when he’d caught Clint looking intently at something on the other side of the mall.

“What’re you so fascinated with?” he’d asked.

“Nothing,” Clint had said immediately, the tips of his ears going red, and he’d started examining racks of clothes with extreme interest, apparently not noticing that they were three times his size. He wouldn’t say another word about it.

Bucky had filed the moment away. A day later, he’d gone back to the mall, determined to find out whatever Clint was looking at so intently.

It was a lingerie store, apparently. Offering things to both men and women, according to the sign. Bucky had stared at the male mannequin, all strapped up in garter belts and stockings and lace, and felt both an idea and furious blush well up.

The people at the shop had been very kind. They’d measured him, and answered his stammering questions with patience. Bucky thought he’d die from embarrassment, but he’d managed to make it out of the shop alive with a single brown bag, a slightly emptier wallet, and the thought that he _must_ be in love or something because he’d never do this for anybody else. Ever.

It’s not even a special occasion, really. It’s not an anniversary, or a celebration, or anything else. It’s just a regular old date night.

“This is stupid,” he says. “It’s too much, it’s—”

The phone buzzes, harsh and horrible against the counter. Bucky jumps, then fumbles to answer it. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” Clint says. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I got tied up with Steve and Tony, but I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes. You’re at my place already, right?”

“Yeah. And don’t worry about it,” Bucky says. “We got plenty of time. Tony texted me an hour ago and I moved our reservation back.” It’s a total lie. He’d actually started getting ready, realized shaving his legs was going to take longer than anticipated and had asked Steve to stall Clint for as long as possible. Tony—JARVIS, technically—had been the one to move the reservation.

Really, Bucky should get a card for his friends. A _thanks for helping me get laid_ card or something. They’re putting a hell of a lot of effort into this for him, even if they don’t know _all_ the details.

“Good,” Clint says, and Bucky pulls himself back to the moment. “Okay, well, I’ll still be home in fifteen.”

Bucky swallows nervously. “Okay,” he says. “See you then.”

He hangs up and looks in the mirror. There’s still time to change, technically. He could strip all this off and put on normal underwear and not think twice about it. Clint doesn’t know he has any of this. He’ll take it all off and put it away. Save it for a birthday or anniversary or maybe never—

He’s reaching for the satin camisole when his phone buzzes again. He looks at it.

It’s from Natasha. _Leave it alone. You look fine. He’s going to love it._

Well, that’s uncanny timing. Either she’s omniscient or she’s got cameras in the bathroom.

It’s probably the first one.

He texts back _Okay_ and sets the phone down, then looks in the mirror. “You can do this,” he says. “It’s just Clint. He’s seen you _naked_. It’ll be fine.”

Bucky straightens one of his garter belt straps, then reaches for his pants. He’s being fancy tonight, so he’s got dark slacks and a light blue button-down shirt. He takes a moment to make sure that the camisole isn’t visible through the shirt—purple under light blue, what was he _thinking_ —then adjusts the collar.

The finished product doesn’t look too bad. Nothing is visible where it shouldn’t be, and the lipstick is _just_ enough to draw attention to his mouth, but not so much that it’s garish. Bucky takes a moment to throw some eyeliner on—that, at least, is familiar territory—and nods at himself. “Okay. You can do this.”

A clattering, a thump, and a muffled expletive announces the arrival of Clint. Bucky opens the bathroom door. His nervousness flees for a moment, pushed aside by amusement as he looks down at his boyfriend sprawled on the floor. “Did you trip on the rug _again_?”

“Shut up,” Clint grumbles. He rolls onto his side and looks up at Bucky, then his mouth drops open. “Holy shit, Buck.”

“What?” Bucky is frantic for a second, thinking maybe something’s showing where it shouldn’t be. But no, everything’s all tucked away.

“You look _hot_ ,” Clint says as he scrambles to his feet. He’s still in his Hawkeye gear, a little sweaty and disheveled, and honestly looks pretty damn good himself. “Seriously, seriously hot.”

Bucky smiles at him. “Yeah?”

“Uh, _yeah_.” He laughs. “Damn, man. Did you have your heart set on dinner? Because I really kind of—”

“Go shower,” Bucky says, moving out of his reach. “I got dressed up for this, there’s no way I’m letting you strip me out of it just yet.”

Also because he’s not ready to show off his surprise, but Clint takes the first excuse at face value. He leans in to kiss Bucky’s cheek, then stops. “Are you wearing _lipstick_?”

“Yep.”

Clint groans and drops his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. “I know I’m on a superhero team,” he says, “but I don’t have any _actual_ superpowers. You’re putting a lot of faith in my self-restraint here.”

“We have to leave in twenty minutes, doll, and you’re not dressed.”

“We can make it,” Clint insists, reaching for Bucky’s shirt and undoing a button. “Or skip it and order in.”

Bucky slaps his hands away. “Absolutely not. We’ve been planning this for two weeks. You are not denying me my fancy Italian dinner.” He turns Clint around and pushes him towards the bedroom. “I laid out clothes for you. Go shower and get dressed.”

“Fine,” Clint pouts, and he hurries off. Bucky adjusts his jacket and redoes the button, trying to ignore the little thrill in his stomach as the satin underneath shifts against his skin. He went full out for this, which included waxing his chest hair off yesterday. It hurt like a _bitch_ to get done, but the resulting sensitivity is well worth it.

Or at least it will be later. Right now it’s just making him extremely aware of _other_ places he’s had hair removed. Bucky clears his throat and stares across the room at the bookcase, trying to distract himself by organizing the titles in alphabetical order.

It works, to some extent, and by the time Clint is fumbling with his tie, Bucky’s got himself under control. He sighs at Clint and crooks a finger. “Get over here.”

“I can _do_ it,” Clint says, as he manages to somehow tie his wrist up in the silk as well. “Wait—hang on—I got it.”

“Just come here,” Bucky says, and Clint stumbles over to him. Bucky frees his hand and ties the knot with practiced fingers, smiling a little at Clint’s petulant expression. “Shush. You like it when I do this and you know it.”

“Maybe a bit,” Clint admits, eyes still on Bucky’s mouth. “Although I really prefer you untying them. Or tying other things up with them.” He winks.

“That what you want tonight?” Bucky asks nonchalantly, straightening his collar. “You want to be tied up?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” Clint says. He’s grinning, but there’s so much heat in his gaze that Bucky might spontaneously combust if he looks too long.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs, “but I have a surprise for you. You might change your mind when you see it.”

Clint perks up at that. “You have a surprise?”

“Sure do.” Bucky pulls his hands back and nods in satisfaction at Clint’s look. “There you go. Get your shoes on, okay?”

Clint sits on the couch and pulls his shoes over. “What’s the surprise?”

“If I tell you now, it’s not a surprise later.”

“I can pretend it is. I’ll gasp really loud and everything.”

“Nope,” Bucky smirks at the look on his face. “You’re too impatient, doll. This’ll be good for you.”

“Bucky,” Clint whines as he gets up. “Tell me.”

“Nope. If I gotta squirm all night, so do you.”

Clint gapes at him, and Bucky picks up his coat. “Time to go,” he says and starts walking down the hallway.

There’s a little “Hey!” of indignation and a scrambling noise. Bucky presses the elevator button and watches as Clint locks the door, then hustles down the hallway to him. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and then walk away.”

“Can’t I?” Bucky is loving this. Getting Clint riled up is one of his favorite activities, mostly because he’s just so damn easy to rile. They haven’t been dating very long—a little less than six months at this point—but Bucky’s already well versed in how to push his buttons. He winks at Clint and leans against the elevator wall. “Seems like I just did.”

“Oh, you—”

The elevator dings, then, and an old lady gets on, stepping between them. Clint looks at him over her head, with a look on his face that says _two can play at this game_. He holds Bucky’s gaze for a second, then reaches up and carefully adjusts his tie.

It’s an innocent motion. Nothing he hasn’t seen Clint do a half-dozen times before. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at Bucky, and the flash of light on his tie, and the whispering of fabric between his fingers. Bucky swallows nervously as the motion makes him very aware of _other_ satin things.

Clint smirks at him and drops his hands to his sides again. When the door opens, he steps over to Bucky and takes his arm. “Shall we?”

Okay, so maybe Clint knows how to push his buttons too.

They catch a taxi to the restaurant, and Bucky gives his name at the front door. In no time at all, they’re whisked back to a private table in the corner. “Here,” Clint says, pulling out a chair for him.

“Very old-fashioned of you,” Bucky says, sitting in it all the same.

“Nah, I just knew you’d want to sit there.”

Bucky looks up at him. “You did?”

“You don’t like sitting with your back to people,” Clint says like it’s no big deal. Except that it’s true, and he hadn’t realized Clint had picked up on that.

“You don’t either,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but _you_ get keyed up about it. Spend the whole night looking over your shoulder.” Clint smiles at him. “I’m being selfish. I want you to spend the whole night looking at me.”

There’s a lump in Bucky’s throat, suddenly, and he’s not really sure what to say to that. Clint doesn’t comment on it. He just presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, then sits opposite him and picks up a menu.

“So,” he says, perusing it. “What am I least likely to spill on myself?”

Bucky snorts out a laugh. “There’s pizza,” he says. “Could always get that.”

“Mmm,” Clint says absently, still absorbed in the menu. “Feel like I should branch out a bit though. Try something new.”

“Whatever you get, just leave room for dessert.”

He’s reading the actual dessert section of the menu and doesn’t really mean it like _that_ , but Clint makes a little noise anyway. “Is that what the surprise is? Did you get sexy chocolate sauce or something?”

Bucky laughs. “What? No.”

Clint frowns. “Then is it—"

“Nope.”

“But—”

“I’m not going to tell you,” Bucky says, flipping to the next page, trying to focus on the words and not what he’s wearing. “So stop asking. You’ll find out when we get home, and not a minute before.”

“Okay, so what’s the quickest thing we can order—”

“ _Stop_ it. You promised me fancy Italian dinner, we are having a fancy Italian dinner. No rushing allowed.”

When he looks up, Clint is studying him with an odd expression on his face. Bucky’s not sure what it means. Which is unusual, because he typically finds Clint very easy to read.

“What?” he finally asks.

“Nothing,” Clint says, looking back down at the menu. “I just didn’t realize this was so important to you.”

Bucky shrugs, trying for offhand and probably not making it. “Just feel like I haven’t had the chance to see you in a while.”

“Bucky, we _work_ together.”

“Yeah, but killing robots and taking out sorcerers doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time for _us_.” He reaches out and takes Clint’s hand. “I just want to spend time with you, you know? I’m tired of stealing minutes between missions. I want to sit down and have an actual dinner and talk.” He smirks a little. “And _then_ I want to take you home and take you to bed. That sound like a plan?”

“And then the surprise?” Clint asks, trying to look innocent and totally failing.

“You keep askin’, sweetheart, you’re never gonna know.”

Clint scowls, but it’s more adorable than angry, and after a minute it smooths out. “For the records,” he says, “I want this too. Dinner and talking. Hanging out. I’ve missed it.” He smiles. “You being all dressed up is a nice bonus.”

_Yeah, well, wait until you see what’s underneath it._

They order. Clint does end up getting pizza, which Bucky snickers about until Clint kicks him. Bucky just picks something at random. He doesn’t really care what he eats, honestly. He just wants to have dinner with his boyfriend and wonder how the fuck he got so lucky as to have this.

There is actual dessert, brought on mostly by the fact that Clint sees someone else ordering tiramisu, and immediately demands they get some too. Bucky watches him eat, a little enraptured by the look of ecstasy on his face. “I love this stuff,” he tells Bucky. “Nat got me a whole one for my birthday last year and it was the best thing.”

“I remember that,” Bucky says. “Mostly how you went full Gollum over it and called it _my precious_ and then threatened to use exploding arrows if someone else touched it.”

Clint snickers. “I take tiramisu very seriously, you know.”

When the tiramisu is gone and the check is paid, Bucky expects Clint to drag him into a taxi and back home. But as soon as they step outside, Clint reaches down and takes his hand. “Wanna walk around for a bit? Check out some lights?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and that’s how they end up walking the streets of New York City, marveling at the Christmas displays. Bucky has never liked Christmas—at least not the way Hydra celebrated it—but he likes the wonder on Clint’s face as they look at the lights and especially likes the way the falling snow catches in his hair. Likes it enough that when they pause to look at a window display, he draws Clint into a kiss.

“What was that for?” Clint asks, pulling back and dusting snow out of his face. He smiles. “You know, so I can do it some more.”

Bucky laughs. “I like you,” he says. “Do I need another reason to kiss you?”

“Not at all.” Clint steps into him, maneuvering them out of the street and a little ways into a narrow alley. Then he leans in, kissing Bucky in a way that is not _entirely_ appropriate for a public space. Except Bucky doesn’t care about that, not with the way Clint’s hands are slipping into his half-zipped winter jacket, and how it presses the satin camisole against his skin, suddenly reminding him that he’s still wearing _lingerie_ —

Clint pauses, mouth against his, and rubs his hand over Bucky’s chest. The fabric of his shirt slides over the satin, which makes for an interesting feeling on his bare skin. He can’t hold back the little moan that escapes him.

Clint does it again, then pulls back just enough to see Bucky’s face. He rolls both fabrics between his fingers, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you...wearing something under this?”

“Part of the surprise,” Bucky says, voice a little breathier than he means it to be.

They lock eyes. Clint still looks a little confused, but there’s a sudden heat to his gaze too. He looks around, then reaches for the shirt buttons. “Can I see?”

“Here,” Bucky says, and he undoes two of the middle buttons. Just enough for Clint’s hand to slide in and rub against the satin there. “We’ll call it a preview.”

“Oh my god,” Clint murmurs, eyes widening. “Are you...is this...”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. He puts his hand over Clint’s, feeling the heat of it leak through the satin onto his skin. “You wanna see the rest?”

The embarrassment that he felt earlier is gone. It’ll probably be back later, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed right with the way Clint’s eyes are lighting up at the touch of satin under his hand.

“I _definitely_ want to see the rest,” Clint says, reaching for the other buttons. Bucky smacks his hand away and redoes his shirt, then zips the jacket up over it. The little sound of protest Clint makes is adorable, and Bucky kisses his nose.

“Find us a ride, then,” he says.

Clint practically materializes a taxi out of thin air for them and drags Bucky into the backseat as he gives the driver their address.

“Nice night,” the driver comments, pulling away from the curb.

“Yeah,” Clint says. He puts his hand on Bucky’s thigh. “It’s—”

He stops, clearly feeling the outline of the garter belt strap under his palm. He traces the edges of it with his fingers, then looks up at Bucky with a stunned expression. Bucky keeps his own face innocent and offers no explanation.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clint mutters, pulling his hand back. He pulls at the collar of his shirt and shifts a little in his seat.

The driver gives up talking to them after a few minutes, which suits Bucky just fine. He’s never been one for small talk, and he’s having too much fun watching Clint try and keep himself under control.

Also, because he’s trying to keep _himself_ under control.

As soon as they arrive at the apartment, Clint grabs his hand and pulls him into the building. “Elevator,” he says. “ _Now_.”

“I think there’s drinks in the back lobby,” Bucky says. “We could have a nightcap if you—”

“Bucky goddamn Barnes, I will literally _drag_ you upstairs if you make me wait any longer.”

“Impatient,” Bucky teases, but he’s ready for it too, and so he gets onto the elevator without protest. The ride up is thick with tension between them, unhelped by the way Clint’s fingers are rubbing the edges of the straps under his slacks.

As soon as the doors open, Clint yanks him out and down the hall to his apartment. “Come on,” he mutters, fumbling the keys in the door. “Stupid things—”

“Here,” Bucky says, taking the keys. He unlocks the door and pushes it open. “Watch the rug.”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Clint says, almost tripping over it anyway. He manages to catch himself on the shoe rack, then straightens up with as much dignity as possible. “Okay. You. Naked. Now.”

Bucky snickers as he closes the door. “ _Wow_. The romance was almost tangible there.”

“We just _did_ romance,” Clint says, yanking off his jacket. “I bought you fancy Italian dinner _and_ we went to look at Christmas lights.” He kicks off his shoes, then turns around to face Bucky. “Please?”

“If you want me naked,” Bucky says, shrugging off his own coat and shoes, “then why don’t you get over here and do something about it?”

Clint doesn’t waste any time. He pulls Bucky into the living room, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. “Your wish is my command,” he murmurs against Bucky’s lips and reaches for the shirt buttons.

Bucky grabs his hands. “Just...“ he starts, then clears his throat. The embarrassment that’s been nudging at him all night is back in full force, and he can feel his face flush red.

Clint stops, eyes concerned. “Hey. You okay? Something wrong?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just...promise me you won’t laugh. When you see it.” Not that he thinks Clint would do that, but there’s still a bit of the 1940s left in Bucky, and it’s hard to shake sometimes.

Clint chuckles a little bit and squeezes his hands. “Buck, if you’re wearing what I _think_ you’re wearing, I can guarantee you that _laughing_ is gonna be the last thing on my mind.” He kisses him again, a little slower and sweeter this time, and the last of Bucky’s resistance melts away.

“Okay,” he says, and lets Clint’s hands go.

“Okay,” Clint echoes, and he starts undoing buttons. Bucky tries to think of something quippy to say, but he’s distracted by the wondrous expression on Clint’s face as the shirt opens, revealing the purple satin camisole underneath.

Clint slips the shirt off him and tosses it to the side, then steps backward to take it in. Bucky bites his lip and watches as Clint’s eyes drag all over him, eventually settling on the hint of lace and purple bows peeking out from under his slacks.

“Damn,” he finally says, reaching out to ghost his fingers over the fabric. Bucky shudders a little underneath his touch. “I mean... _damn_.”

“There’s more,” Bucky says, swallowing nervously. His hands move to his belt, but Clint knocks them aside.

“Let me,” he murmurs, holding Bucky’s gaze as his fingers undo the belt. “I want...”

His voice trails off as the slacks fall to the ground, and the rest of it is revealed. Bucky steps out of the pants and kicks them aside, then taps his fingers nervously on his thigh. “What do you think?”

Clint doesn’t answer. He’s staring at Bucky’s legs, clad in dark stockings. As Bucky watches, he sinks to his knees and reverently reaches out, running a hand up Bucky’s calf. He skims over the garter belt straps, over to where they disappear under the purple panties, all the way up to where the straps attach to the lace part of the camisole. His thumb smooths over one of the little purple bows and he swallows roughly, the movement of his throat visible in the dim light of the kitchen.

“Baby,” he finally says, voice faint. He looks up at Bucky’s face. “Did you wear all this for _me?_ ”

“I saw you looking at it,” Bucky admits, blushing bright red. “In the mall. And you’ve said before you like this kind of stuff, and I just wanted to do something nice, and—”

Clint stands up and yanks him into a kiss, pulling him forward with the force of it. Bucky stumbles, and Clint takes advantage of it to spin him around, pressing him against the wall. Bucky’s head smacks into the bricks. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Clint mumbles, hands settling onto his waist. His thumbs rub at the lace there, and Bucky lets out a little moan. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says between breaths as Clint kisses down his neck. “Nothing like—a concussion—to—spice up—”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Wasn’t _that_ hard.” He leans down to suck at a nipple through the satin.

Bucky’s knees weaken, and he has to grab at Clint to keep himself upright. “ _Jesus_ ,” he breathes, biting at his lip to stay quiet. Clint chuckles and slowly gets back onto his knees.

“You look so damn pretty like this,” he says, sitting back on his heels. “All done up like an early Christmas present.” He kisses the curve of Bucky’s hip, right at the edge of the lace. “Bows and everything, _and_ my favorite color too. What did I do to get this lucky, huh?” He runs his fingers along the edge of the panties, making Bucky whine a little and push into the touch. There’s already an obscene bulge there, straining against the fabric.

“Oh no,” Clint says, pulling his hand back. “You did all this for me, so I’m gonna enjoy it.” He smirks up at Bucky, fingers still teasing. “Plus, you made me wait _all_ night to see it. Call it payback.”

“Unfair,” Bucky pants, but the words send a flash of heat through him anyway. Normally, Bucky’s the one giving orders. He likes to watch Clint obey him, likes to get him strung out and wrecked and then tell him how good he is. But right now, with the heated way Clint is looking at him, and the commanding tone in his voice, and the firmness of his hands...well, Bucky’s not feeling very _in charge_ at all. And he’s surprisingly okay with that.

He swallows roughly at that realization and puts his hands flat on the bricks, panting a little as Clint gently presses his palm to Bucky’s cock. “Life’s not fair,” he says. Bucky makes a little choked noise at the touch. “Get used to it.”

He leans forward and mouths at Bucky’s cock through the satin, sucking gently. The wet heat of it is _indescribable_ , and Bucky nearly bites through his lip as he tries to hold still. “Fuck!”

“In a bit,” Clint says. “But first...” He does it again, dragging his tongue over the fabric and adding to the wetness there. Bucky hisses in a breath and digs his fingers into the bricks.

“I like this,” Clint tells him. “I like _you_ , looking like this.” His fingers rub over the purple bow on the panties. “I can’t believe you thought I’d _laugh_ at you.”

“Didn’t really think you would,” Bucky says honestly. “It’s not you—I just—I know guys don’t usually wear this—” Fuck, he can’t think of words when Clint’s looking at him like that. Like he’s something precious, or special, like he’s _loved_ —

Clint holds his gaze for a moment, then stands up again. “Hey,” he says quietly, putting his hands on either side of Bucky’s face. “Bucky.”

“Yeah,” Bucky manages past the lump in his throat. He blinks back tears, not really sure why they’re there at all.

“You look fucking amazing,” Clint says. “I’m dead serious. You’re gorgeous as hell. I love every bit of this.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s mouth, soft as anything. “And I especially love that you went way out of your comfort zone to do something nice for _me_.”

“Yeah, well, you’re worth it,” Bucky says, and suddenly he’s not the only misty-eyed one.

Clint huffs out a little breath and rests his forehead against Bucky’s. There’s a silence then, broken only by their breathing and a little sniffle that might have come from either one of them.

Finally, Clint pulls back. “Well,” he says lightly, wiping at his eyes. “Do you still want me to suck your dick, or should we just keep crying on each other like a couple of saps?”

Bucky bursts out laughing, and Clint grins at him. “Yes,” Bucky says fondly, leaning forward to kiss him. “I _definitely_ still want that.”

“Good,” Clint says and takes his hand. “Come on. Bed.” He pulls Bucky into the bedroom, then pushes him down onto the bed. “Sit. No, wait.”

Bucky tilts his head. “Wait?”

“Yeah.” Clint gets on his knees again. “The panties are _fantastic_ , but they’re kind of in the way.” He looks up at Bucky, then leans forward and gently takes the edge of them between his teeth, tugging them downwards.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky mutters, reaching down to help ease them over the straps. “You look _so_ fucking good doing that, doll, you have no idea.”

“I do know,” Clint says, letting gravity do the rest. “I’m an absolute vision.” He runs his hand down Bucky’s leg, gently lifting it out, then does the same on the other side. “Not as much as you, though.” He reaches up and pushes at Bucky. “Go on. Get comfortable.”

Bucky sits on the bed, moving his legs a little wider as Clint shuffles closer. “Do you want the rest of this off, or—”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Clint says. “You’re gonna stay in this forever.”

“Forever, huh?”

“Forever,” Clint repeats, and then he’s taking Bucky in his mouth, hands on Bucky’s thighs right where the stockings end. Bucky tips his head back, a ragged groan escaping his throat as Clint _hums_ around him. He pants at the ceiling until he falls into a rhythm, then looks back down at the same time Clint flicks his eyes up. The sight of his mouth wrapped around Bucky’s cock is almost enough to undo him right there.

“Wanna touch you,” Bucky manages, and Clint smirks, pulling off to press a kiss to the crease of his leg.

“Yeah? That what you want?” he asks, fingers running up and down the garter belt strap. “You wanna touch me? Get your fingers in my hair? Hold me still while you fuck my mouth?”

Bucky makes some strangled noise that might be a _yes_ or might be a prayer, he’s not sure which one. Clint smirks again and shakes his head. “Tough,” he says. “I’m calling the shots tonight.”

Another noise and Clint reaches up, pushing him backwards onto the bed. He grabs Bucky’s hips and pulls, adjusting their positions until he’s satisfied. Then his tongue presses against Bucky’s skin, licking across his hole, sloppy and filthy and absolutely _amazing_.

“Oh _god_ ,” is all Bucky can get out, and he can feel the vibrations as Clint chuckles against him. He grinds down onto Clint’s mouth, spilling out a stream of indecipherable words. It’s not enough to make him come, not even _close_ , and Clint is steadfastly holding onto Bucky’s legs, leaving his cock leaking and untouched as he licks into him. Bucky wants to reach down and touch himself, but he’s afraid doing anything like that will make Clint stop, and Bucky never wants him to stop, not _ever_ —

“And you said _I_ was impatient,” Clint says, stopping anyway, laughing at the garbled whine of protest. “Doesn’t take much to get you there either, does it?”

“Please,” Bucky begs.

“Please what?”

“Everything.” He reaches down, fingers grasping. “Fuck me?”

“Mm. I’ll think about it.” Clint lowers Bucky’s legs, then crawls up the bed over him, leaving a trail of kisses along the way. “If you keep asking nicely.”

He’s still fully dressed, and Bucky grabs his tie to drag him into a kiss. He nips at Clint’s swollen mouth, then hooks his ankles around him, pulling Clint’s hips down at the same time that he pushes up. Clint lets him grind against his thigh for a moment, then moves, reaching over him to the nightstand for the lube. “Impatient,” he says again, grinning down at Bucky. He tosses the lube to the foot of the bed, then leans down and wraps his mouth around a nipple.

Bucky arches up into the contact. “You like it,” he gasps.

“I do,” Clint says, moving to the other one. “I like it a lot.” He sucks on it, adding in a gentle nibble that pulls an embarrassing little whine out of Bucky. “Barely even touched you, and you’re already wrecked. What’s not to like about that?”

“Don’t be smug.”

“No, I’m gonna. I’m gonna be smug and say dirty things and drive you wild and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” Bucky raises an eyebrow at this, and Clint quickly adds, “Tonight, anyway.”

“There you go,” Bucky says, dropping his head back.

Clint chuckles and slides his hand under the camisole, then pauses and says, “Did you shave your _chest?_ ”

“Waxed it,” Bucky says. “Yesterday. Along with other things, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Trust me, I noticed.” Understanding lights over his face. “Oh, so _that’s_ why you wore a shirt to bed last night.”

“Is that _really_ the conversation you want to be having right now?” Bucky asks, loosening Clint’s tie. He pulls it off and tosses it to the side.

“Why?” Clint presses his lips to Bucky’s neck, sucking at his pulse until Bucky wriggles and moans underneath him. “Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

“There’s a lot of things I’d rather be doing,” Bucky says, a little breathless, fumbling with the buttons on Clint’s shirt. “Undressing you, for one.”

“I’m sure.” Clint reaches down and grasps Bucky’s cock, lazily stroking his hand along it. “But I think I’d rather get my fingers in you. Stretch you open and get you ready for me. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great,” Bucky gasps, feeling like a goddamn live wire underneath him, unable to keep himself still as Clint strokes him with maddening slowness. “Sounds great, I want it, I want it, _please_.”

Clint rubs his thumb over Bucky’s cock, spreading pre-cum around it. Then he locks eyes with Bucky, raises his hand to his mouth, and licks it clean.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Bucky says, unable to takes his eyes off the frankly _sinful_ sight in front of him. With his hair messed up and his shirt half-undone, and the smoldering look in his eyes, Clint is the most gorgeous thing Bucky’s ever seen in his life. He commits the sight to memory, tucks it away for the rare nights when Clint isn’t in his bed. He’s going to be getting off to this image for _years_.

Clint pulls his fingers from his mouth, then reaches down and circles around Bucky’s perineum, pressing just lightly enough to make Bucky arch up for more. “You taste good,” he tells Bucky, scooting his way back down the bed. The hanging fabric of his shirt brushes over Bucky’s cock and he jerks his hips up into the sensation.

“Feel free to taste more,” Bucky gets out. Clint chuckles and takes the lube, pouring some over his fingers as he kneels between Bucky’s legs. His other hand rubs over the stocking, picking up Bucky’s leg to hitch it over his shoulder.

“Planning on it,” he says, and then he’s pressing a single finger against Bucky’s hole, gently working his way in. “You’re fucking amazing. I ever tell you that?” He keeps his finger going, turning his head to kiss along the stocking. “Going out of your way to get dressed up for me. Lookin’ so pretty. God, I love you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches in his chest, and then he’s propping himself up on his elbows, looking at the stunned expression on Clint’s face. They stare at each other for a moment. Then Bucky says in a shaky voice, “You _love_ me?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, still looking surprised, like he’s just as shocked by the words as Bucky is. He clears his throat and nods sharply, like he’s reassuring himself. “Yeah, I do. That okay?”

The tears are back, spilling down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. It’s funny, almost, that he was worried about being vulnerable in lace and satin. _This_ is vulnerability. He feels _bare_. Exposed. Split open under the intensity of Clint’s gaze and the lingering question in the air. He feels—

He feels—

 _Safe_.

There’s so much sincerity in Clint’s eyes, and warmth, and he’s waiting with quiet patience for Bucky’s answer. Bucky swallows roughly, then reaches out, pressing his palm to Clint’s cheek. “Of course it’s okay,” he says. “I love you too.”

Clint beams at him, a brilliant smile breaking over his face, and he leans his head against Bucky’s hand. “Okay,” he says, blinking a couple of times. “Okay. Good to know.” He turns and kisses Bucky’s palm, then looks up at him with a sly expression. “So do you still want me to fuck you, or should we just keep crying on each other like a couple of saps?”

Bucky laughs and wipes at his face. “If you don’t mind,” he says. “Since you’ve already started and all.”

Clint looks at his hand, looking slightly surprised to find himself still knuckle-deep in Bucky’s ass. “Oh, yeah.” He wiggles his finger, grinning as Bucky jolts up a little. “My bad. Got distracted. You ready for another?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, putting his hands back on the bed. “Please.”

“Look at you, asking so nicely.” He slides a second finger in. “I like it.” He adjusts his position, flattening himself on the bed and adding his tongue, working Bucky over until he’s writhing against Clint’s mouth. “Like hearing you moan for it.” He adds a third and curls his fingers just right, biting along the strap closest to him as Bucky keens and gasps.

“Think you’re ready,” he adds, pulling out his fingers and shifting position again. Bucky whimpers at the sudden emptiness. “I know, sweetheart. I know. Gimme a sex—” He flushes red, and Bucky snickers. “ _Sec_ , shut the fuck up, Barnes.”

“You’re adorable,” Bucky says, and then he’s gasping as Clint pushes into him, slow and steady, filling him up perfectly. He’s still got his pants on, having lowered them only enough to free himself, and the rasp of fabric against Bucky’s over-sensitized skin is _perfect_.

“Aw, fuck,” Clint mutters, closing his eyes. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He reaches one hand down and tangles their fingers together, then pins them to the pillow by Bucky’s head. “You look so good too. I tell you that yet? So fucking pretty in my color, all mine to do whatever I want with.”

“You’ve said.” Bucky rocks his hips up, making Clint moan. “Like hearing it though.”

“Gonna keep saying it,” Clint informs him, fucking into him with a steady rhythm. He picks up Bucky’s leg again, resting it against his shoulder. It changes the angle, makes it better, sends sparks shooting up his spine with every thrust. “Every goddamn day, _fuck_.”

With his other hand, Clint pops the cap on the lube, drizzling it over Bucky’s erection. The coolness draws a hiss out of him, and then a strangled shout as Clint adds his hand. “Fuck,” Bucky mutters, pushing up into it. “Jesus, God—”

“Hail Mary, full of grace?” Clint asks, grinning down at him like they’re just having a chat, like he’s not systemically taking Bucky apart piece by piece.

Bucky rolls his eyes even as he snorts out a laugh. “You’re an _asshole_.”

“You love it,” Clint shoots back, leaning down to press a reverent kiss to his chest.

Bucky loses track of words after that. Clint keeps fucking him, matching his hand to what his hips are doing. It’s not edging, necessarily, but it’s damn close. He keeps his movements steady, keeps whispering a stream of filthy phrases in Bucky’s ear, keeps a careful eye on his reactions. “Look at you,” he mutters, and Bucky can see his own self-control fraying. “So fucking wrecked for me. I love it. Love hearing you.”

“Want you to come in me,” Bucky says, voice broken. “Please.”

“I can do that.” Clint moves his hand a little faster. “But you first.”

Bucky doesn’t need any more than that. He chokes out a little whimper of assent and gives himself over to the sensations. Loses himself in the slick glide of Clint’s touch, and the feeling of fullness in him, and the way Clint’s fingers are tangled up with his and pressing into the pillow—

It starts in his toes, wrapped in their silk stockings, and travels up through his body with a rush of heat. A low noise escapes him—some kind of punched out, involuntary whine that leaves him breathless and scrabbling at Clint’s shoulders, desperate for something solid to hold onto. Clint works him through it, telling him how good he is, how pretty he looks. “I got you,” he says, his voice rough and tender and warm. “I got you, baby, just let it go. I’m here.”

Bucky is crying again, little sobs hitching in his chest as he rides the wave, coasting on the bliss of the moment. Clint’s thumb smoothes over his cheeks, wiping the wetness away, and then he leans forward and captures Bucky’s mouth in a gentle kiss. “I got you,” he breathes again, and all Bucky can do is nod.

Clint kisses him again, then pulls back, tugging Bucky’s hips even closer. “My turn,” he informs Bucky, who nods again. “Gonna come in you. Fill you up and make you mine.”

The sound that escapes Bucky is both filthy as hell and completely indescribable, but whatever it is, it seems to work. Clint’s eyes darken with lust and he growls, actually _growls_ , primal and heated. Then he’s snapping his hips forward, driving himself into Bucky with an unrelenting intensity. Bucky moans underneath him, oversensitive and strung out, high on Clint and his piercing eyes and the fact that Clint fucking _loves_ him—

“Bucky,” Clint chokes out, and he falls forward, collapsing onto Bucky’s chest with a quiet moan. Bucky immediately wraps his arms around him, gently rocking his hips to take him through the orgasm.

“Easy,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to Clint’s hairline. “That’s it, doll, I got you too. You did so good for me. Made me feel so good.”

Clint makes another choked noise and buries his face into Bucky’s neck, panting short breaths into his skin. Bucky rubs his back and keeps whispering at him. Assuring him that he did good, that he’s perfect.

“Love you,” he adds, moving his hand up to scritch through Clint’s hair. “Love you so goddamn much, baby.”

Clint nods into his shoulder and sniffles, then slowly moves until he’s propped up over Bucky. “Kiss me,” he says breathlessly, and Bucky obliges, pulling him down into a long, slow kiss that nearly makes him _melt_ with how tender it is.

Clint pulls back, then presses a feather-light kiss to Bucky’s jaw. “That was amazing,” he says quietly.

“I’ll say,” Bucky murmurs. “Hell, if I’d known you’d like this so much, I would’ve done it _way_ sooner.”

“I don’t think _I_ knew I’d like it so much,” Clint admits. He carefully slides out of Bucky and gets on his knees, reverently running a hand over the lace at Bucky’s hip. “I mean, I knew I liked this kind of stuff. But just seeing you all done up, and then with the makeup and the _feelings_...” The sentence trails off and he shakes his head, making a vague gesture towards Bucky’s face. “Fucking irresistible, that’s what you are.” He pats Bucky’s leg. “So did you wax these too?”

“No, I shaved. It sucked. Took four razors.”

Clint’s eyes widen a little, and he lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Worth it,” Bucky says, wriggling a little more into the bed. He’s so happy, and tired, and has absolutely zero desire to move. Except he really should move, because there’s come drying on the camisole, and more leaking out of him, and he could definitely use a shower. They both could, honestly.

“This is washable, right?” Clint asks, tugging at the camisole. “Because we kind of ruined it.”

“I...don’t actually know,” Bucky says, looking at it. “Kinda hope so.” It was expensive, he’s gonna be pissed if it’s ruined.

Nat would know. He’ll ask her. He doesn’t have to give details.

“Me too,” Clint says, gently playing with one of the straps.

“So I take it you want me to wear this again?”

“Dude,” Clint says. “If you want, I will buy you one for every day of the week. You have _no_ fucking idea how good you look in this.”

Bucky laughs. “I think that would be a lot of work, doll. But we can break this out anytime. All you gotta do is ask.” He groans and forces himself to sit up a little more. “Come on. We need to shower.”

“Probably a good plan,” Clint agrees.

“Which means you need to move,” Bucky says.

“Yeah.” But he doesn’t.

Bucky sighs and shifts his leg, putting his foot against Clint’s chest. “Move,” he says, pushing gently, and Clint makes a little noise, sliding his hands up Bucky’s leg.

“Fine,” he says after a moment, kissing Bucky’s ankle. “Shower.”

Bucky lets his leg drop. Clint gets off the bed and drops his pants, then reaches for the remaining buttons on his shirt. “Do you need help taking that off?” he asks, eyeing the straps. “Looks complicated.”

“Nah,” Bucky says. He undoes the straps and tugs the camisole off over his head, then reaches to roll a stocking off. He’s careful with it, focused, and it’s not until he goes to pull it off his foot that he realizes Clint is staring at him. Or rather, at his leg. Bucky smirks and shakes the stocking out, setting it on the bed next to the camisole. “Like watching that, huh?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Clint says, hands still paused on the last button.

“Maybe,” Bucky says mildly, reaching for the second one. He holds eye contact this time, reveling in the little whine that escapes Clint as it rolls down his leg. “Good way to go, though.”

“Great way to go,” Clint agrees faintly. He finally moves his hands and pulls his shirt off. Then they’re both naked, and Bucky is definitely contemplating the possibility of a second round as he eyes Clint’s arms. God, those _biceps_...

Clint reads him like a book. “Thought you wanted to shower,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Shower sex is a thing.”

“True. Slippery, though.”

Bucky laughs and gets up, stepping into Clint’s space. “Come here,” he says and wraps Clint in a hug. “I love you.”

Clint shudders a little in his arms and relaxes into them, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “I love you too,” he says quietly. “So much. Even when you’re not wearing pretty things for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clint smiles against him. “I meant to tell you at dinner, actually, but then there was dessert and Christmas lights, and then we...” He clears his throat. “Point being, I was aiming for a slightly more romantic moment where I _wasn’t_ two fingers into your ass, but you looked so damn good it just kind of slipped out.”

Bucky chuckles and pats his back. “What matters is that you said it,” he says. “And that you’re still saying it.”

“I’ll say it however much you want,” Clint tells him. “It’s true. It’s been true for a long time.” He pushes out of Bucky’s arms and takes his hand. “I love everything about you. Every time I look at you I wonder how I got so damn lucky.”

“Me too,” Bucky murmurs, pulling him into a gentle kiss.

They make it into the shower after that, using the soap as an excuse to get handsy with each other. Eventually, they wind up against the wall, Bucky’s hand working on both their cocks and his other one pinning Clint against the tiles. “You know,” he says, straining to keep his voice steady. “We could get you some nice things too. Get you all done up in _my_ color.”

“Yeah?” Clint gasps, bucking his hips forward. “You—you like that? I’ll do it. Do whatever you want.”

“I know you will,” Bucky says in his ear. “You’re always so good for me.”

Clint moans at that, dropping his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, and comes with enough force to leave him shaking. Bucky holds up him easily, biting his lip as he comes too. Then he washes off the mess between them and pulls Clint out of the shower. “Stay still,” he says, and Clint obeys, pliant and sleepy as Bucky towels him off.

He walks Clint back to the bed, eyeing the wet spot on it, and figures they can change the sheets in the morning. So he just turns down the other side and eases Clint onto the sheets. “There you go,” he murmurs, getting in behind him and snuggling up to him. “I got you, sweetheart.”

“Love you,” Clint mumbles into the pillow.

Bucky presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, reveling in the feeling of Clint in his arms. “Love you too, doll,” he says. “Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


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